


Momentary Truce

by LemonPetitFour



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Injury, M/M, Vomiting, caring roche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonPetitFour/pseuds/LemonPetitFour
Summary: Iorveth suffers an injury during a skirmish with some of the people of Flotsam. Vernon Roche comes across the Scoia'tael commander. He decides to help.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Momentary Truce

His unit had scattered, as they were supposed to. There were so few Scoia’tael, they couldn’t risk warriors by fighting to the last breath in the name of honor. They knew when they were beat in a scuffle. So they fled to survive.

They had done what they needed to anyways. A group of idiotic dh’oine from Flotsam had come out to try and find the Scoia’tael base and kill the elves. Iorveth bet they didn’t realize just how many elves lived in this forest, or just how deep in their base was. Iorveth had taken a group out to mislead them, pull them away from the camp. They had led them away enough that there was no way they would be able to find the camp, not today. They had even cut down some of the dh’oine while they were at it.

But Iorveth’s group had been sorely outnumbered, so after suffering injuries he called for a retreat. No point in losing good elves when he could avoid it. Which brought him to where he was now. Panting, clutching at a wound, and tucked away between some mossy rocks.

He was pressing hard at the gash in his side. Bloede dh’oine got him good… He had been surrounded, distracted by all his opponents, and one had gotten into his blind spot and taken a swing. It was deep, long, and would need stitching. He didn’t have any supplies on him to help treat his injury. The commander was hoping to slow the bleeding enough to get up and trudge his way back to camp for help.

The bleeding had yet to slow at all, blood still seeping out between his fingers. He had taken his gloves off, covered in dirt and blood that wasn’t his from the skirmish. His pale hands were coated in red, fresh and sticky.

Iorveth sat, trying to slow his breathing, still heavy from his sprint away from the attack. He sat, waited.

And could have sworn he heard a sound.

Iorveth tensed, covering his mouth to muffle his breath. Footsteps, behind the rocks he was hiding by. He pulled his hand from his wound, wincing at the deep sting that was spread across his waist. He reached for the dagger strapped to his chest, unsheathing it slowly.

The footsteps stopped, waited, then turned and started walking again. The elf listened carefully, ears twitching. The footsteps were moving around the rock. He was going to get caught.

He heard a blade unsheathe. _Ysgarthiad_ …

The figure darted around the rock, blade raised. Iorveth raised his own blade, shorter but just as threatening. He leant back with the hand previously covering his mouth, bracing himself as the lifting of his blade sent a bolt of pain through him.

His panting filled the quiet clearing, only accompanied by chirping birds and rustling leaves.

“Iorveth?” A voice came, hesitant. Vernon Roche. Iorveth scowled, covering his immediate fear with the look. His enemy, finding him bleeding out in the forest. What a perfect time to end their feud and cut down the Scoia’tael commander. He kept his blade raised.

Roche looked at the elf, taking in his appearance. He frowned at the wound soaking through Iorveth’s gambeson, bleeding worse now that there was nothing putting pressure on it. Roche lowered his blade, looking uncertain. Iorveth kept his up.

Roche sheathed his blade. He raised his hands at Iorveth, showing his palms. The Scoia’tael commander stared. What was he..?

“Drop the blade, I’m not letting my greatest enemy bleed out on the forest ground. I want one of us to go out in a duel, not this way.” Iorveth snarled, gripping his blade tighter. He felt lightheaded. Roche sighed.

“Yield Iorveth. You wouldn’t win this one were we to cross blades, and I’m not battling you as you are.” Roche said. Iorveth held strong for a moment or two longer before he finally dropped the blade. He sheathed it with a shaking hand, going to press against his wound again. He groaned at the pressure.

Roche kneeled in front of him, moving one of the elf’s hands out of the way so he could see. Iorveth didn’t fight it, too worn to resist. Roche frowned, poking carefully at the injury.

“What happened?” He asked, starting to fumble at his belt bags for something.

“Dh’oine.” Iorveth said, word strained. He groaned again, tipping his head back and closing his eyes tight.

“Of course.” Roche responded. Iorveth could practically hear the eye roll in his words.

“Hold still.” Roche said, warning just before Iorveth felt the wound burn. He hissed, looking down at his waist to see Roche pouring something over it. Roche met his gaze, saying nothing as he looked back down at the injury.

Iorveth saw that Roche had set aside thread, a needle sticking out of it. Roche put the canteen to the side and went to thread the needle.

He held up the threaded needle, checking it over for a second before placing a steadying hand on Iorveth’s waist.

“I’m sure you know it will hurt. Tell me if you need a break.” Roche said. Iorveth grunted in response, feeling the first press into his flesh. It hurt, made his stomach churn. He closed his eyes, turning his head to the side to press his forehead to the cool stone of the rock.

Roche worked efficiently, as quick and painless as possible. It still made Iorveth sick. He truly thought he’d pass out, groaning and twitching away from the pain weakly as Roche weaved the thread through his skin.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Roche said, stopping for a moment to give the elf a break. They were at a halfway point. Iorveth panted, breathing through the pain as best he could. It was all encompassing. Iorveth had experienced pain before, horrid pain and had the scars to prove it, but that never made new pain any easier.

“You’re gonna be fine, elf.” Roche said, voice low and rumbling. Iorveth swallowed hard, blindly grabbing at Roche’s hand holding the needle. Roche seemed to understand, going to continue stitching him up.

He had to be finished soon, it had to almost be over. Roche kept murmuring to him in what he assumed was supposed to be a soothing manner. On a particularly nasty pull at Iorveth’s flesh, the Scoia’tael commander jolted, turning to the side and throwing up what little food he had in his stomach. He coughed, groaned. Tears streamed down his cheek as he spat up what was left in his mouth, feeling absolutely miserable.

He panted, leaning back again. Roche was watching him, some unreadable emotion in his eyes, brows furrowed hard. Iorveth stared back, unbearably tired, unable to do much but blink lazily and try to breath through the pain. Roche went back to his stitching, continuing in a steady stream of words. A few more stitches, more grunts of pain from Iorveth, and Roche finally sat back. He wiped at his forehead with his striped sleeve, shoving the needle and thread into a random belt pack.

Roche pulled his canteen back out, holding it to Iorveth. The elf eyed him.

“Take a swig and spit it out, get that taste out of your mouth,” Iorveth took the canteen warily, Roche keeping a hand on it so the elf didn’t drop it with his shaking, “You can have some after you wash your mouth out.” Iorveth listened, swishing a bit in his mouth before spitting it out on top of the mess of bile he’d made, before taking a long chug afterwards.

“There you go…” Roche murmured, looking over Iorveth. Neither of them had anything to wrap the fresh stitching in, so they would just have to be careful not to get anything in it for now.

Roche took the canteen back, fishing out a small cloth he had and wetting it. He moved forward, cloth in hand, and Iorveth pulled back with a hiss of pain. What was he..?

“You have blood on your mouth.” Roche said. Oh. Roche moved forward again, wiping the cloth gently against the elf’s face. The white came back pink, Roche moving to wipe down Iorveth’s hands next.

“How did you manage to get blood on your mouth, elf?” Roche asked, rubbing the cloth between Iorveth’s fingers.

“Covered my mouth with my hands. Heard you-“ He swallowed, “Heard you coming. Had to be quiet.” His words were rough and scratchier than normal, throat sore from throwing up. Roche frowned again and didn’t respond for a while.

“We need to get you back to your camp.” Roche spoke up. Iorveth groaned. He didn’t have any strength left to make the trip and didn’t want Roche learning where all of his warriors slept.

“I can tell what you’re thinking. I know you won’t let me take you back to where your elves hide out,” Roche said, “We can wait here, at least till morning and you can drag your ass back there.” Iorveth frowned.

“Dragging isn’t as dignified as I’d like to travel.” Iorveth said, breathy. Roche laughed, rough and quiet. He helped shift Iorveth to a different spot, away from the vomit, and made a small fire to keep them warm. Iorveth drifted to sleep quickly as stars started winking in the sky, the pull of rest laying heavy and tempting in his bones.

Iorveth woke to Roche asleep, the sun barely peaking through the treetops. Their fire was out, nothing but embers. Iorveth pulled himself up with the help of a tree. He would leave before Roche got up. At least that would be less awkward than whatever goodbyes Roche would have. And what if the Temerian commander turned on him? Decided to cut the elf down? No, he would leave now.

He trudged away, pain hot but knowing he had to go. He cast one more look back at Roche. Curse the dh’oines, but sometimes they surprised him. Roche was an interesting one, dare he say special. Iorveth turned, making his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated.  
> This was originally going to be a Dandelion and Iorveth fic, but I decided to try my hand at Roche instead.


End file.
